


A Cliff

by Demeter



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Gen, Odin's Parenting, a bit of a mess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-14
Updated: 2016-07-14
Packaged: 2018-07-23 21:11:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7480188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Demeter/pseuds/Demeter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>when the void stares back at you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Cliff

Once Odin had two sons.

_no, Loki_

* * *

  

Sometimes, Odin finds himself at the jagged edge of the broken Bifrost. He stands at the edge of his kingdom and stares into the void.

The void is described by the scholars of Asgard as the pathways between distant words. A miasma of the happening, will happen, may happen; the view of the other realms as seen through something not unlike a thousand upon a thousand spilled buckets of multi-hued paint.

But that’s a lie.

Odin does little to dispel their theories; it does no good to attempt it now, when the falsehood gives Thor some comfort, that he believes Loki sleeping upon a distant land and perhaps, perhaps, perhaps, is nestled somewhere safe and sound.

He knows the truth. The void is an unending pit. To fall into it is to fall into an eternity of darkness. a darkness so black, it would plant fear even in the hearts of the elves of Svartalfheim. A darkness so black, the pitch would swallow Loki’s mind and his heart until nothing would be left and even that would not be a mercy for he would ever be aware of his slow, agonizing descent into nothingness. Death would be a mercy.

Here, Odin swallows around the thickness in his throat.

For death is what Loki wished for when he let go of the spear.

 

* * *

 

“As under the written laws of your father’s father, may he ever be blessed, during the reign of the second prince, his Highness Loki Odinson, then King of Asgard, the actions of -” and here, Jugr, one of his oldest and most tactful advisors, pauses as he shuffles through his papers to locate the correct names. “-Sif the Warrior, Fandral the Dashing, Hogun the Grim, and Volstagg the Voluminous did, indeed, commit treason against the throne.” He frowns. “However, it can be argued that there were extenuating circumstances; their families will state that his highness, Loki Odinson’s throne, was not truly representative of the throne of Asgard as it had come into being under circumstances that were manipulated from before their actions could begin to be construed as treason.”  

Odin swirls the warm mead in his glass.

“However, as King, you do have the right to state that the actions of one King is their own, and therefore, should be considered sacrosanct. Your Majesty, it is the council’s suggestion that you punish them in private and without the public acknowledgment; this would do much to quell the discontent of your court and their families . Your.” Jugr hesitates. “Your late son, the young prince, was not long on the throne, and the stories have already spread about his fall. I fear that punishing those responsible may create further strife that would be beyond even Heimdall’s ability to see.”

So it is.

Odin feels the old, old hackles rise in him. He closes his eyes, buries the wave of grief-born anger. But it is a heavy wave. Thor will someday do the same; he will need to push back that same urge to destroy and destroy and _destroy_. Their powers are tied to their thrones, to their blood. It is something learned and something that is kept close, and perhaps, someday, he will have someone such as Frigga to hold his fury in check and keep his heart from eating itself away.

But if Odin was not King and was not the Allfather…

If he was free to do as he wished, to say what he thought, to bring his spear forward as he wanted, it would be different.

_Very different indeed._

He would break their bones, one by one, tear their limbs from their bodies, piece by piece, and feed their still-pulsing organs and entrails to the wraith dogs until there was nothing left to burn, nothing to send along the watery paths to Valhalla, nothing but the void in their pasts and the ghosts of their hearts, He would bring their families and friends, their children and their loves, he would have them see all his hate, he wouldn’t let them close their eyes, they would be forced until they were utterly destroyed by his cruelty, by his rage, until all knew his anger would never die, never cease, would _burn_ until Ragnarok came and the world turned and the fates fell.

 “My King.” Jugr’s voice trembles. The skies are black. The stars are gone.

 Odin stifles his anger. He swallows it like the burning sun.  

 Draws back the growing earthquake that the palace cracks under.

 “We shall grant them a pardon. And then they shall attend me for the turning of twenty suns.”

 Jugr bends the knee and upon rising, he flees.

 

* * *

 

In the end, he does nothing.

Not in court, not publicly. But he summons them to Loki’s room. He stands there with them. And they stand with him as Asgard’s star rises and sets for twenty days and twenty nights. None but Frigga and Thor know where they are. Frigga takes regency, Thor turns away. Their families are made to worry, are made to wait.

It is but twenty days, after all. Not even a blink compared to eternity in the Void.

They stand. And they look at the pieces and moments of a person they betrayed and who betrayed them in turn.

When they stagger out, with neither food nor drink to pass their lips, he allows himself to smile. They see. They see Loki’s trinkets, his mementos of their journeys. Of the dagger Fandral had given him on a nameday, of Hogun’s bracers, still waiting to be magicked. Of a lock of Sif’s golden hair, and a pile of trinkets that have the names of Volstagg’s children attached. They see it all.

They see.

 

* * *

  

Somedays, when he is particularly tired (and he is always tired) and particularly greedy, he pretends he said something altogether different. That he said, 

_It’s alright, Loki._

_Loki, I understand._

_You’re my son, Loki._

_Loki, Loki, you are my son, you were never unloved, you were never thought of as the lesser son, you are loved, you will always be loved, we will never let go of you, I cannot see my world without you, Loki, you are my **son**!_

_Loki, I love you._

He swallows this diverging of the paths, drinks it in like strong wine. The flavor it stains his grief is bitter, is hideous. Every time he comes back to the realization of what he truly said ( _no,_ loki _)_ , the bite of the words crawl deeper into his heart, into his throat. There are days where nothing can fade the memory of Loki screaming up at him from above the abyss and nothing that can change those two terrible words. It seizes him until there are long turns of the stars where he believes that there can never be happiness in his life again.

Odin smiles. 

What more perfect punishment could have been? Loki wrapped poisonous words around his own heart and mind until they consumed him in madness and fury and grief, and he does the very same.

Like father, like son.

_no, Loki_

 

* * *

 

One day, Frigga finds him standing upon the jagged edge of the Bifrost. 

“Husband.”

“Wife.” He does not smile; she has not looked at him in the long months since Loki’s fall. They both gaze down into the swirling Void and they both see the abyss their son continues to live on in. He does not lie to her and she will not be lied to.

“Long days, you stand at the edge of the Bifrost. Asgard takes note.”

He laughs. It is not a pleasant sound. “As they should.”

She says nothing to that, merely stays where she is. Frigga has not touched him in as many days that she has not been able to bring herself to look at him. Where once, her hand was a calming force on his arm, or a stray finger through his white beard, she now holds herself like fragile glass, as if the gentlest wind will crack the castles she’s constructed of air and sorrow.

He misses what was. But he knows. This is as much a punishment for her, as it is for him. For it is their son who jumped from the Bifrost into the Void.

Odin may not have caught him, but then, Loki might not have let go if he’d only believed himself truly loved. And Frigga sees that as her own failure as a mother.

“We are expected to hold a feast. It has been long days since Loki has gone,” Frigga says, the entirety of the void in her empty words. “We are expected to finish our mourning. We are expected, my King, to put it away and resume our places in front of Asgard.” Frigga smoothes her face until it is like marble and as cold and beautiful as the glittering stars that dance across Asgard’s skies.

Odin says nothing.

“My King, we must feast.”

Indeed. They must feast.

The feast will mark the end of their mourning. The feast will say farewell to Asgard’s youngest prince. Loki will be locked away into the vault of their memories and after long years and longer centuries, he will only be a note, an aberration in Asgard’s unending history.

He moves closer to her. He has words that have burned in his heart for long days.

“Will you listen to my words, my Queen?”

Odin takes her hand and Frigga does not resist. But her hand is cold and limp, is thin and without life.

“As we all must, my King.”

“My Queen, we must feast. And you must know what was said while I was within the grasps of sleep.” Odin hears Loki’s screams again, his furious words that will echo in and out of his memory for the thousands of years to come.

“I heard all his words. Thought I slept the sleep of Kings, I could hear his words above my bed, as he promised to do good for Asgard, that he would slay those who compromise its safety, that he would be a son that I would finally be proud of and wife, my wife, I could not wake.” Odin squeezes her lifeless hand. She does not squeeze back.

“I could not wake and tell him he was ever always my son.  I could give him no comfort and no truths from me. I could not tell him that we love him. I could not give him peace. I could only watch as he slew Laufey above my bed with his words that it was the _Son of Odin who gave him death_ and I could do nothing. I did nothing.”

He presses her hand to his heart. Odin knows there are tears streaming down his face. Frigga says nothing, only stands there and listens, with eyes wide and blank.

And then she pulls her hand away. It is like a shard of glass, bright and sharp, to his throat. She is his Queen, and she pulls away.

Odin sees her throat trembles. And the familiar drum of jagged grief echoes in him.

“My love, I cannot...” She swallows. “I do not wish to blame you, I know this in my heart, but - “ Frigga turns away, her hands clutched at her eyes. “Our son is dead and he died believing I would hate him.” Now, she weeps. “And you could not save him.” Frigga turns to him and she is in a quiet rage that swallows the loveliness of her face. “And you did not save him. _You did not save him._ ”

He knows. He did not say the words that would have brought Loki back. He did not pull his spear first, and leave words to last.

He did not act the King, but as a father in a moment of weakness, and he lost their son for it.

Frigga swallows a sob, presses her hands together until the fingers bleed white. “And I. Oh, my King. Do you think I do not wonder where our paths twisted and turned? That I do not wonder what of my actions or words gave Loki the time to doubt my absolute love for him? That he should know that I would have done anything to support his reign, that it did not matter his prank on Thor, I would have forgiven him, I did forgive him, we could have dealt with it fairly, we would always love him, nothing could take that away, nothing!”

Frigga grasps her throat tightly. “I love him.  I love my son and he could not believe it, he could not believe in my love for him. He could not believe his mother loved him enough.”

They look at each, the tears that stain their face, and they are both failures.

Below, the void continues to swirl and the stars continue to turn. Above, the sun shines dully and Asgard gleams in the distance.

They stand there. Frigga controls her ragged breaths. Odin straightens his crooked back. Together, they stand apart.

Together, they turn to the Great Halls.

There is to be a feast.

* * *

 

_no, Loki_

Once, Odin had two sons.

And now he has one.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I've never been able to get over the first depiction of MCU!Loki, with his grief and rage, his hate and love, his desperation and terrible acts.


End file.
